This Isn't Home
by Katako-Chan
Summary: Helen Pevensie overhears and is befuddled.


**Disclaimer: **The Chronicles of Narnia belongs to C.S. Lewis, Walden Media, etc.

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**This Isn't Home**

by Katako-Chan

It was odd, really, for me to pick up on such seemingly insignificant moments, even as a mother, even as their mother

It wasn't really important, well, that's what the neighbors with children would have told me. They were just slips of the tongue, and it wasn't going to matter twenty years from now. They were children, they changed quickly and easily, and words were fads in their little worlds.

But it was just so strange, really. Whenever we were leaving, from church, after going to the park, the doctor, the grocer's, they never said, not once, "Let's go home." It was always, "Let's go," or "Can we go?" or "Let's go back." They never used home. Not Peter, not Susan, not Edmund, not Lucy.

I'd taken them all out on a walk that day, after we'd finished supper. They were whispering again, likely coming up with a new game for themselves, one of the newer pastimes they'd returned with from the country. Peter's head was bent down so he could listen to Lucy's speech, while Edmund and Susan huddled in close as if to close off the rest of the world.

When we'd returned home, the four of them had promptly rushed up the stairs, and hidden in the boys' room, continuing their game. At half past nine, I headed up to shoo the girls into their room to prepare for bed. The door was ajar, and their voices floated out to my ears, carrying the most curious conversation.

"When do you suppose we'll go back?" Edmund asked quietly.

"When Aslan wills us to," Peter replied, with firm resolve and belief in his words, despite the absurdity of them. Aslan? Who was Aslan?

I could make out a muffled sniff after Peter's words, and heard him say, "Don't be sad, Lu, you know we will go home." But they were home! This was their home!

"Oh, I know, Peter, I know! And I try so hard to be the Valiant here in England, but it's just so much harder here than it is back there! And what do you suppose Narnia is doing without us? Mr. Tumnus was getting awfully old, and we haven't appointed any other regent! I don't think anyone could have ruled better than Mr. Tumnus at regent, but he was so old, we shouldn't have left that duty upon him!" Lucy despaired. Narnia? Regent? Why were they discussing a monarchy? And a man by the name of Tumnus? The name sounded entirely un-English. Perhaps they'd met a foreign friend of the Professor's in the country?

"Lucy, dear, you know Mr. Tumnus could have handled it just fine," Susan's voice comforted in a motherly tone. "Besides, Oreius would have handled the army, and Mr. Tumnus would have only been left with the Cair's affairs to keep in order."

"But, but, but, oh, how I want to go back! We left so suddenly, and if I hadn't been so curious about the silly lamppost, we'd still be home..."

"Lu," said Edmund, quite seriously. "This is our home now. Or at least, we will have to make this our home until the Lion opens another pathway for us into Narnia. We must trust in Him that He will keep Narnia prosperous. We have trusted in Him many times before, in battles, in treaties, and now we must continue to do so." When did Edmund learn to speak with such wisdom? And who was this "Him" that he spoke with such reverence about?

"Ed's right, Lucy. There isn't much we can do except wait and obey Him." I imagined that Susan was stroking Lucy's hair at the moment.

"But," Peter's voice had now taken on a wistful tone, "We all still long for it sometimes, too, Lu, you're not alone. As frightening as the battles were, as disgusting as sweaty armor after training was-."

"Oh, shut it, Pete, you know you loved it," Edmund broke in suddenly, laughing.

"But that's just it. We can complain about all those things that we swore we detested: ignorant diplomats, silly suitors, comrades inches from death on the battlefield, but they are all a part of Narnia. They are all a part of our home, and no matter what, we'll miss it dearly. But Aslan said, _'Once a King or Queen of Narnia, always a King or Queen,'_ so we will be going back."

"There's the High King of Narnia for you," Edmund murmured. A collective sigh then escaped them, as if they were pondering Peter's last words, and I left abruptly to process what I had overheard.

They spoke of a place they called their home, and it definitely wasn't this house in Finchley. They spoke of England as if it were a foreign place, distinctly separate and far, far away. They spoke of battles, Kings and Queens, and a revered Lion called Aslan. My children spoke as if they had a deep, full connection to this land, that they were the Kings and Queens that they had labored and toiled over their kingdom to keep it flourishing. They spoke with wisdom far beyond their years.

They had seen too much to simply be children aged thirteen, twelve, ten, and nine. They spoke with the simple eloquence and wisdom of Parliament members who had seen too many bad turns in the government. They were far too experienced to be children, even evacuees of a war. And as absurd as it was, this home they spoke of really was their true home. Their words rung sincere, and at Peter's last words, I had felt the urge to kneel in fealty and admiration to a King that I never knew my son was.


End file.
